Vaults Of Our Own
by Kravor
Summary: The path to godhood is wrought with obstacles and adversaries. The worst are those you don't see coming. Or, perhaps, the ones that you do.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So this was inspired by my own playthrough of Divinty: Original Sin 2. I finally got around to cleaning it up and publishing. Reviews are always appreciated, especially because I have a couple more chapters of rough drafts laying around.

\- Kravor

* * *

The Bard, Lohse, and the Prince eagerly began to loot the area whilst trying to look like they were _not_ enthusiastic grave robbers, which he supposed they all were. The red-scaled Lizard continued to strut around, somehow managing to keep an air of snobbish indifference even as he pocketed a silver goblet inlaid with precious gems. Lohse, in contrast, whistled a jaunty tune as she sifted through chests and piles of gold, tossing anything that caught her eye into a steadily-growing burlap sack.

He frowned as he eyed the heavy sack. She'd probably try to get him or the Prince to carry it for her. Again.

Wandering down the corridor a short ways, he came upon another room. This one was all bare stone as opposed to the wood-paneled walls and floor of the previous, the only decoration being a statue kneeling on a pedestal in the center. Oddly enough, the statue was missing both its hands and its head, leaving only a body clad in robes and two feathered wings sprouting from its back.

He supposed it wouldn't be too hard to add sacrilege to the list of Braccus Rex's crimes. The man had certainly done worse, after all.

He found himself wandering into the room, eyeing the statue critically for a reason he couldn't place. Something just felt… off.

Given that he was in an ancient vault filled with booby-traps and a self-resurrecting skeletal necromancer guardian, everything was _off _about the situation. The buzz in the back of his skull that usually preceded his magic use was a constant drone in his ears, as if he'd been hit in the head with a wand.

Which had happened, once. Not his proudest moment.

"Found anything interesting?" came a sultry voice behind him. Thankfully he managed not to jump this time and settled for glaring over his shoulder at the familiar figure in the doorway.

"Just this," he replied casually, doing his best to ignore the way she sauntered into the room. 'Sauntered' may have been too generous, she practically _glided_ into the room, hips swaying slightly with each measured step. Despite himself, his eyes caught the way one dagger at her waist bounced against the flesh of a smooth thigh. He was fairly sure she did it on purpose.

The sideways look she shot him, all-knowing with a teasing smirk, told him enough.

_Vixen_. He grumbled internally, tearing his eyes off her slim form and back to the significantly less attractive statue of some god.

Her arms came to rest over his shoulders, hands clasped on top of his chest. Her bosom ghosted against his back. He could smell her now, something sweet and earthen, and just barely feel her breath tickling his ear. A lover's embrace to most, but he didn't miss the way she drew a nail down the side of his throat. He refused to show any sign of discomfort as his ire began to rear its head again. Let her play her games.

"There's something… _other_ here", she remarked.

He gave an agreeable noise before noticing a crack at the base of the pedestal, one he was sure wasn't there before.

He raised one hand. "Do you see that-"

There was a sudden flash of light.

He blinked, looking around. He stood on some kind of platform, made of blue crystal and seemingly floating in a bluish-white void. On either side rose cliffs of the same blue crystal, disappearing above and blow as far as he could see. The platform was deserted save for him.

He started when he realized he couldn't feel Sebille's weight on him and whirled around, confirming that he was, indeed, alone in this odd landscape. His surprise continued as he turned back toward the platform and saw a radiant figure of golden light standing in the center.

The light faded slightly, revealing knightly armor and visor that obscured any facial features. He made to ask the being's name when it suddenly opened one hand and a glowing blade of starfire coalesced in its palm. The figure pointed the sword at him and began to advance.

"I'm not here for a fight" he said to the approaching knight, palms flat and facing outwards. He still had his blade strapped to his side, but honestly? It was getting annoying that everything wanted to kill him. In fact, the only things not trying to kill him were his companions, and even that was subject to change.

The iridescent phantom stopped when its blade nicked at his chest.

**"Fight!"** it suddenly roared at him.

Well. Now he was getting somewhere.

"No. Tell me what's going on here" he deadpanned, crossing his arms over his chest. Not so easy to do with armor and at swordpoint, but he made it work well enough.

In a flash, the glowing knight was suddenly behind him and grabbing by his short hair. The shining blade was pressed against his jugular, deep enough to slice his throat open from the merest twitch from either of them.

**"You are to be my Champion!?" **It roared again. "**You who would not even take up arms to defend yourself!? Perhaps I wasted my time saving you from that sinking ship!".**

He jerked his head backwards, feeling his throat cut open as his skull collided with his opponent's helmet.

The shining knight gave a surprised noise as it stumbled backward, reflexively clutching the metal that covered it's nose. He felt his torn throat suddenly close up, the flesh knitting back together without a drop of blood. Somehow, he knew there was not even a scar.

The knight raised his visor, revealing green eyes and satisfied grin.

**"Ah, that's more like it".**

* * *

When he returned to the normal world, he found himself stumbling on shaky legs, nearly falling on his ass. Which he did, when his elven companion stumbled into him and sent them both crashing onto the stone floor in a heap of limbs. She ended up on top of him, not that they noticed as they shook off the combined nausea and dizziness of their abrupt spiritual journeys.

It was minutes, or maybe seconds, he couldn't tell, when the world stopped spinning and he could raise his head without feeling the urge to vomit. Said action left him face to face with the elf that tormented his thoughts, in more ways than one.

"Not that I'm complaining," he grunted, "but are you okay?"

She managed a nod, still looking far too disoriented than ever. He struggled into a sitting position, leaving her to weakly straddle his lap as he rubbed his face and tried to figure out what the hell just happened.

"I don't suppose you met a God too?" he inquired dryly.

She stiffened but nodded, leaning back onto their legs. A part of him protested the sudden lack of her against him. A small part.

"Yes, I did" she spat. He raised an eyebrow at her scowl, thankfully directed far away from him as she stared through his armored chest.

"What happened?" he asked tentatively, knowing how easy it was for her to retreat into silence.

"I'd rather not talk about it." She made to rise, but his hand catching hers gave her pause.

He tried not to flinch as her hateful gaze moved to him, but they quickly lost their fire. Not all the way, it was still there, just not directed at him.

"A burden shared is a burden lessened," he said slowly. "I find some things easier to cope with when spoken of".

She hesitated, clearly looking like she wanted to speak.

"Tir-Cendelius, the Old Father… wants me to become the next Divine".

**_Be wary of your companions, for there are other gods seeking champions._**

"That doesn't sound… bad" he said carefully. Could he trust her with the knowledge that he too had been chosen to become the Divine? It would be all too easy for her to kill him. One less obstacle on the road to godhood.

Her eyes were fixed on some unknowable point, looking but not seeing, her mind far from the cold stone walls.

She breathed silently for a few moments, before placing her hands on his chest, tracing the grooves of the metal as she spoke.

"Gods bearing gifts… divinity. And yet, he treated me…" She hesitated.

_Like what? A friend? Colleague? Lover?_

That last one brought an odd tightness to his chest.

**_You will be the next Divine. Do not disappoint me. _**

_Ah. Like a servant, like an obedient lapdog, like a-_

"Like a slave" he murmured. Her sharp eyes fixed on his, this time with wariness. It eased as she took in the disgust in his gaze.

"Yes," she hissed, "Like a _slave_. As if I am to be nothing more than a pawn in the games of the Gods. His was a lesson, meant to discipline, not edify. Why would I obey such a god?"

The anger in her tone melted into a cold rage, her hands unconsciously clenched on his shoulders.

She sucked in a sudden breath as he gently placed a hand on her cheek. The one with the scar. Her lips pressed into a thin line, dark eyes flashing a warning. Unperturbed, he waited for a few moments to be sure of her attention before continuing.

"You are not a slave anymore, Sebille." He said lowly. "No one can force you to do anything. You have a choice now. You can always tell your god to go fuck themself".

She blinked, took a deep, shuddering breath, then nodded. She unconsciously leaned into his touch. "Thank you. I… am still unused to such kindness" she said softly. He only stroked her cheek with his thumb in response, carefully avoiding the harsh scar that decorated it. It made something clench painfully in him every time he saw it, that horrible flaw on her otherwise perfect features.

They both jumped as Lohse's voice echoed down the hallway.

"Hey, where'd those two run off to?"

Sebille abruptly climbed off him as the Lizard joined in.

"Perhaps they found another treasure room?"

"More like they finally found a place to grind out all that tension, huh?"

"I… what?"

"You know, _on each other!_"

He managed to groan almost at the same time as the Red Prince. He missed the rosy hints on the elf's cheeks before she schooled herself into something more neutral.

They made their way back to the other half of their group, both pondering the future.


	2. Chapter 2

He let out a slow breath as the screams finally stopped and fully relaxed against the wooden wall. Hard to unwind at all through the cries of pain and weak blubbering for mercy.

He was still asking himself why he'd let Sebille have him.

The door to the stairs leading up creaks open, revealing a dark figure that turns out to be the elf herself as she steps out into the light. The lack of Roost Anlon with her was telling enough, and he decided there was no need to check up on their prisoner. Whatever state Sebille had left him in, he would no longer trouble them again.

"How do you feel?" he asks neutrally. That entire episode had been for her benefit, even if she had taken the time to ask his permission. Privately, he knew she didn't need it, but he recognized that was her way of showing her respect to the de facto leader of their little group.

They had both come a long way, certainly.

She pads over to him, dark eyes half-lidded. There's a half-smirk playing about her lips, but there is no joy in it. Just a measured contentment, like a cat having finally caught the mouse.

"Oh, I won't lose any sleep over him." She assured. "You heard the way he spoke to me. I was nothing to him, just something to be tortured or ravished."

He shifts uncomfortably over that last part, though whether it's from the idea of torture or the idea of _her _as the victim he's not sure.

She doesn't miss his movement and gives him a searching, questioning look. "Does such a creature deserve anything less than death?"

The immediate answer was easy, but then he remembers the boy they'd found in the woods outside of Fort Joy. Barely a lad, but with his eyes gone in place of weeping sockets and his Magister uniform soaked in blood. In that moment, he had felt nothing but pity. Sorrow, even.

A feeling he didn't know he could still have for that Order after what he'd seen in the Fort's dungeons.

Black and white was easy to see; to rationalize, to hold on to. The world was harder to deal with when it was in shades of grey.

He shook his head. "In the end, no one is beyond redemption."

Her eyes narrowed, and she thrust out her arm to him. "Is that so? You see these names on my left arm? Several I killed with _pleasure_."

She stepped closer. "You saw me kill Stingtail, how _good_ it made me feel."

Only a few feet separated them, highlighting the inches in height she had over him and forcing him to look up slightly. "You read the _ecstasy_ in my eyes when I made Roost scream. I ask again. Does a creature like me deserve anything less than death?"

The last sentence ended in a whisper. Her eyes had fixed on some point over his head, and he stepped closer to her, hardly a hands width away, forcing her to look down at him if only out of reflex.

"_No one _is beyond redemption." He repeated softly. He could feel her breath ghosting against his lips, and he was ashamed to admit the way hers were parted slightly was far too inviting.

There's a flicker of something in her eyes, as if for a moment her walls come down and her soul is bared for him to see. It's chaotic and conflicting, and it vanishes as she abruptly looks away and draws in a deep breath.

"I hope so." She whispers, so softly he almost misses it. "I don't want to be an engine of vengeance all my life. To be just one more name to take."

She holds up her needle, eyeing it with the same searching, questioning look she gave him.

"Beyond the blood and death is… a desire to be happy." The needle disappears once more, and she glances at him.

"I can only hope that is not too terrible a crime."

With that, she moves away without a second look, and he wonders just what to make of her now.


	3. Chapter 3

"Trouble sleeping?"

He blinks, drawing himself back to the present, and turns in time to see Sebille emerge from the dark interior of the tavern. She's clad similarly in a light tunic and breeches, and has a small blanket wrapped around her shoulders. He finds some dry amusement that his hand had strayed to his blade and turns back to the view.

The second floor of the tavern held a small common area that led to a sizable balcony facing deeper into the town. The cool darkness of night was ruined only by the torches held by patrolling guards and Magisters, but thankfully they were unable to distract from the starry night sky where his eyes had been.

"Something like that." He murmured distractedly, dark thoughts creeping back. Fully expecting her to wander off again, he's slightly surprised when she sits down on the bench next to him. She adjusts the blanket around herself and gives him a searching look before speaking again.

"You said once that a burden shared is a burden lessened."

A corner of his mouth curls upward at his own words used against him. He was surprised she remembered that. They hadn't spoken of that moment yet. Truthfully, he'd doubted they ever would.

"True." He allowed. "Just… a lot on my mind."

At her inquisitive look, he sighed and continued. "We've been through a lot these past weeks. Too much, some would say. Haven't really had a moment to stop and think until now."

Sebille remains silent. Out of respect or affirmation, perhaps, but… suddenly he's tired of it. Of the silence, of the quick glances, of watching his words around the people he fights, bleeds, and laughs alongside. He finds his words turning bitter and blunt too quickly.

"What are we doing, Sebille?" he hissed, not giving her a moment to reply.

"Here we are, fools told to chase divinity because we can use some forbidden power that was going to get us killed either by someone leeching it out of us or being executed by the Church. To be told we need to replace the gods because they can't do their fucking job anymore. A bunch of misfits sent off to save the world because no one else can."

He snorted. "It sounds like a fucking fairytale."

"We are in strange times- "Sebille began, but he cut her off.

"Strange times!" he turned to her, still seated. "Strange times indeed, elf! A band of merry misfits chasing godhood, but you know what the best part is!?"

He stopped himself and took a deep breath. In and out. Sebille remained silent, eying him warily.

"The _best part_," he continued softly, "is that only _one_ of us gets to become a god. To become _the _God. And they know this, these gods that now look to _us_ for their power. They know we eat, sleep, travel, and fight together."

He stood, placing his elbows on the railing and looking out over the sleeping town.

"When the time comes, we'll tear each other apart. Won't we?"

The elf looks away and says nothing. He wonders if that little ember of hope he'd been carrying is now well and truly snuffed out. When he speaks again, his voice is low, almost somber.

"How long before we turn on each other, Sebille? How much longer do I have to keep looking over my shoulder until I feel your needle at my throat again?"

He looked up to the twinkling stars above, as if he could blame the heavens for this predicament.

In a way, he could. The elf doesn't speak, and that's probably for the best.

She doesn't move as he steps away and heads back inside.

"Goodnight, Sebille." He says, leaving her with only the stars for company.


End file.
